The Jekyll and Hyde of the teenager has reduced me to tears. I never cry in front of Amy because I want her to look at me as a strong person, someone who can handle the shit life throws at us. I waited until she'd gone to school and then broke down. On my own. I can't bring myself to cry even in front of my husband. It's just the way I am and I doubt I'll ever change. I don't want to change. Amy has an aggressive streak, mostly of a verbal nature. This morning I thought it had become physical. She towers over me now and she knows she can be intimidating. However much I remain strong, my weakness overwhelms me as I look up at her and love her with such intensity. I could never see bad.
Someone said to me once, 'God would not have given you an autistic child if he didn't think you could cope.' Utter crap. Absolute utter crap. If God gave me an autistic child then he also took away my beloved dad. Why did he do that? Why do people believe, when life gets tough, that God is behind it? I cope as best I can. I love Amy because she's Amy, not because she's autistic. I've never been maternal but I do my best for this child because she's mine. She was not 'given' to me because I was able to cope. I am angry just typing that. I often cry about why my dad was taken from us so young, why he was never given a chance to watch this child grow, to love his family as they made new lives. How dare someone tell me that God would not have 'given' me Amy if he didn't think I could cope. Who am I, The Virgin Mary? I bore Amy. I conceived her. She is my life. And this morning she went to school with my parting words ringing in her ears, 'Amy, I love you.'